


Spring in Tarth

by Southbroom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Grief, Post Great War, Recovery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southbroom/pseuds/Southbroom
Summary: Now struggling with her new title as the Queenslayer, Brienne attempts to recover after her losses in the Great War.Then Lord Tyrion sets up a reunion with an old friend.





	Spring in Tarth

Being a Southerner, Brienne had never believed in the Old Gods. However, her two years spent at Winterfell guarding Lady Sansa had given Brienne some concept of why Northerners were so invested with the with calm of the forest. The treetops of the Heart Tree sprinkled bright with blossoms. Some of the flowers had fallen to the floor covered the Godswood in a carpet that resembled snow. She had found peaceful solitude amongst the elm, alder, and black cottonwood trees in the middle of the reeking city. It was Brine's space to think, _really think_ , about what she had done, and sometimes to think nothing at all.

It was done. Daenerys was crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The Others were defeated at the Twins. Queen Daenerys, Lord Tyrion Lannister and King Jon Targaryen mounted the great beasts Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal into battle. The singers say that the battle lasted three whole days, but Brienne knew it was worse that that. She had been on that battlefield, on the slushy banks of the Green Fork river. The battle was an endless hollering of screams and fire, but Brienne found the days afterward even more haunting. The smell of thousands and thousands of blackening bodies still lingered in her head. And that red dragon laying cold in the snow, but blessedly not its rider. After personally slaying the Night King, Lord Snow was acclaimed the saviour of Westeros.

Fire beat ice; the living beat the dead. The bravery of the new Queen and King was repeated so often that Brienne grew weary of the story.

“Queenslayer.” greeted a rasping voice.

“Tormund.” Brienne adressed.

Tormund Giantsbane, the Wildling fellow who never left her alone for two seconds while at Winterfell, was turning into something somewhat other than an irritation. Since the destruction of the North, Tormund was one of a handful of Free Folk left. One of which, Tormund had married. Margit Bitterwind was her name, some Free Folk outcast who had fled from the North since the first whispers of wights. The lady had then crossed over to Essos and won a place in the Golden Company. Margit met Tormund on the battlefield when Queen Cersei’s army met King Jon’s. According to Torment many boastful stories, he and Margit made passionate love after nearly hacking each other’s heads off. They married that very night.

Brienne shook her head at first, but later decided not to be too judgemental when it came to the culture of the Free Folk. Their customs were completely different to those who grew up south of the Wall. Besides, Brienne felt sympathy for her redhead friend. He had lost all his people, including his first wife and three daughters. In the mouths after the Battle at the Twins, with a more open-minded attitude, Brienne and the Wilding developed an oddly beneficial friendship.

Brienne set down the whetstone and picked up Oathkeeper. She sighed satisfactory when the blade gleamed handsomely in the afternoon light.

“You have to get out of these fucking trees, Brienne.” he told her.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because King Jon needs you in a meeting. In the small room.”

“A small council meeting?”

“Yep. That’s the kind. He -“

“-his Grace.” she corrected.

“-yes.” he said, rolling is eyes, “His Grace said its fucking important.”

“Why?” she asked angrily, thinking it was another of the man’s japes. Brienne might have been named one of the Queensgaurd, but she had never attended a small council meeting. In fact, she was hardy needed in the afternoons, that is why King Jon said she could spend her time as she pleased until uptime came.

“I don’t fucking know.” he said savagely, but smiled at her. He pulled her up by her shoulders and laughed at how she frowned at him.

“Save your scowl for a better day. I gave up on that years ago.”

“Of course you did.” she said, embarrassed by how small her voice sounded. She had never enjoyed the attention that he gave her at Winterfell, but it did do good things for her self confidence.

“Of course. I am married.” he said smoothly.

“You never fail to remind me of that.”

“Also, who would want a woman who never smiles and spends all her time under the fucking trees?”

He had meant it lightly, of course, but it sent a pang of hurt into her chest. He had a point, though. She supposed that was what she did nowdays: brood in the Godswood.

The Maid of Tarth felt the need to isolate herself after she became known as the Queenslayer. Unlike the people had treated the Kingslayer, they meant her new nickname as a compliment.

“Brienne the Queenslayer! Maiden of Tarth!” they’d cheer in the corridors. It was strange the respect that people conjured after she murdered the right people. They called her a heroine, a gift to the Seven Kingdoms for killing the vile bitch. Brienne would smile at their cheers and laugh in the halls at the compliments. She was the first woman in the royal guard's White Book; a war hero form the long night and most respectably the slayer of the false queen.

But Brienne did not smile when no one looked. They had won the war; she had achieved her dream of wearing a gleaming white cloak; but the lady-knight felt empty. The loss of her Lady Sansa and Pod had long caught up with her, as well as the loss of Jaime.

 _Jaime_. She thought, so sadly.

They arrived in the small council meeting to find a string of people looking pleased at her arrival. It appeared that Lord Varys was in the middle of some lecture about finances.

“My Lady Brienne.” Tyron greeted brightly.

“Queenslayer!” Davos nodded, sitting on the far side of the council, which by the looks of things was not actually so small.

“Your Grace, Your Grace.” Brienne bowed to the pair sitting closest to her. “You summoned me, my King.”

“Indeed.” Jon said, gesturing for Tyrion to speak. Jon Snow never was a man of many words.

“My Lady, we have a preposition for you.” said Tyrion, “We received a raven from Tarth a few days ago.”

She tensed, “Important news, my Lord?”

“Quiet so, I am afraid, but that can wait. I have something else to discuss with you. As you know, my brother has been spared his life in exchange for the stripping of all his titles and inheritance, as well as a ban from King’s Landing that is to last for _perpetuity_.” Tyrion said, glancing at Daenerys.

“Jaime has been at Casterly Rock for the past few years. He was offered lordship again, only to turn it down. He prefers tending the horses and training boys at arms.” Brienne blinked, surprised with now hungry her mind was for Tyrion’s words. She had not heard of Jaime since… since…

“Although Maester Creylen has informed me that the horses have never been happier and the young knights of Lannisport never more skillful, I regret to say that my brother is deeply unhappy. It is to be expected, we all had loss in the Great War. Jaime wrote to me in his last letter that the Rock is haunted with memories. I believe he lacks purpose at the Rock and… and he wrote on words darker than that still.” Tyrone paused, and Brienne recognised the love that the brothers shared in his eyes. Lord Tyrion was concerned. Very concerned.

“I have sent him away from the Rock in hope that a change of scenery will lift his spirits. In fact, I sent a raven giving him permission to sail to your father’s charming little island.”

“Tarth? You sent Jaime Lannister to Tarth?” Varys quizzed, looking at the Hand as if he lost his wits.

Tyrion sat up in his chair, linking his little hands in thought. “I have heard from several members of the castle of similar dismal in the you, my Lady. Tormund notified me of your ‘gloom’ just yesterday, and so did King Jon. I thought it a good plan if you and my brother met to talk about your sorrows. Tarth seems neutral territory and I am sure you would be happy to see your father. I think both you and Jaime would benefit.”

The room was quiet in anticipation for Brienne’s answer. “Forgive me, my Lord. It- it is true that I have felt somewhat… dreary the past while, but that cannot excuse me from my sworn duty to protect the King and Queen. I am only recently been given my cloak and I intend to uphold the honour that has been granted to me.”

“We can forgive you for taking a break from the Red Keep, Brienne. You will remain a member of the Queensgaurd, honour intact and respected. Besides, you will not be gone for long.” said Jon.

“Three months at least, I'd say.” said Tyrion.

 _Three whole months, good gods_ , Brienne thought. Her face knotted together.

“I hear that the Stormlands is most beautiful during the turn of the seasons." Tyron continued, "Spring on an island sounds like an antidote to any ill state of mind, don’t you think? I am sure my brother shall be pleased at your arrival.”

Brienne had to concentrate as to not sound affronted, but she was sure her face was revealing that much, “Forgive me, my Lord, permission to speak freely?”

“Granted, Lady Brienne.” spoke Daenerys.

“Ser Jaime- pardon, _Jaime_ , would mislike seeing me again. It would be inappropriate as I - he was present when I slayed Queen Cersei. We have not seen each other since and I fear a meeting would provoke even more feelings of… unhappiness.” Brienne paused, “For both of us.”

“My brother is a Lannister. He might be stripped of that name, but he remains my blood. I care for him, you know. Jaime and I have always been friends. It would please me if you could make him happy.”

“Why don’t you go to Tarth, then? ” Brienne asked. Judging by the looks on the peoples' faces around her, she then knew that she had spoken too freely. “Forgive me, my Lord. I did not mean…” she felt herself reddening and cursed her own weakness.

“It is quiet alright, Brienne.” he said, “You are correct, of course. I would see Jaime personally, however, I have pressing duties as the Hand. And seeing as Jaime has been banished from the city for _perpetuity_ , someone else should go in my stead.”

“If you shall not go for the Kingslayer, Lady Brienne, then consider the journey back home a gift.” Daenerys said, “A holiday from duties is a luxury that is not granted to everyone. I am sure you would love to see your father after all this time.”

Brienne bowed her head. She was wiser than to speak up against the Queen.

“If you insist, I will go to Tarth, your Grace…es.” she added awkwardly, glancing at her feet.

“I have arranged for a royal navy ship.” Jon said. “This is a diplomatic mission, my Lady. View you task as such. A favour for the Hand.”

Brienne strong gaze met the King’s eyes. The black pits of his eyes softened. Something unspoken passed through the White Wolf and Brienne. _He knows_ , she thought panically. _He knows of my weakness for Ser Jaime_.

“I shall do so, my Lord, your Grace.” Brienne bowed clumsily. She was halfway to the door when she remembered.

“One more thing, my Lord. What news arrived from Tarth?”

“Oh, no that was only to get your full attention, my Lady.” Tyrion shrugged, “There was a raven though. Apparently your cousin Larissa is getting married. You might even make it in time for the ceremony.”


End file.
